


in fear of what my life may be

by Minya_Mari



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Actually wrote fluff this time, Don't write at one AM, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I also lied about the sibling thing, It ain't good for you, Like in a sibling kinda way, This escalated quickly and is now out of control, What Have I Done, but yeah, for now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-09 19:52:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1995765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minya_Mari/pseuds/Minya_Mari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'But his eyes had not changed; still grey as her family's colours, and stern as their father's had ever been.'</p><p>A drabble series centring around Arya and Jon. Some of these oneshots may be related, but when in doubt, assume they're not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Adamaris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adamaris/gifts).



> Because it's freezing here, and I literally have nothing else to procrastinate with.
> 
> Also, just ask if you have a prompt you want me to write.

The woman atop the grey direwolf looked every inch a wilding, and Jon Snow would have demanded from Mance an answer had dragons over head and an army at her back did not accompany the direwolf's every step.

As it was, King Stannis did not look at all pleased. Melisandre had foreseen dragons landing upon the wall, had warned Jon against sending anymore men to search for his little brother in Skaagos after Ser Davos had returned empty handed. They'd need them here, she'd said. She did not say what for, though, and that made Jon uneasy.

She'd brought Jon back using her fires. _Only death pays for life_. (It was R'hllor, she'd told him, again and again, but Jon still did not entirely believe).

Jon leant further against the rough wood of the stairs above the gate, long face solemn.

The woman raised her sword and shouted something that sounded vaguely like an insult. Stannis Baratheon snorted, the men along the gate jeered in return.

A deep, metallic scream answered them. A cream wyrm, with gold for horns and spikes, flew lower than its' brothers.

The men who had previously been leering at the woman below now cowered at their posts.

Jon watched as the direwolf between her legs raised its head to cry at the white sky. To his astonishment, Ghost joined the song; a sadness lacing through it. It was long and low, and he only stopped when the other direwolf did also.

The woman turned her head to the men behind her, then back shouting, "We do not come to fight!"

"What do you come here for?" Stannis hollered back before Jon could process the words. The Lord Commander frowned down at the woman.

A green serpent joined the cream in flying lower, and it screamed so loud Jon thought that he'd go deaf. It paused in its' flight, choosing instead, to hover by the gate; great jade wings beating at the air and throwing some of Jon's brothers to the ground with the sheer power of them.

It wasn't far from the ice-coated earth; its tail still lay upon the ground, carving thick divots into the dirt beneath the ice. A man with shoulder-length, silver-blonde hair clad in black armour sat where the neck met the shoulders. He grinned savagely at them.

 _"The Others,"_ he cried in answer.

 

.

 

The gates opened, and Arya watched as men clad in thick, black cloaks parted to allow a few of Aegon's men inside Castle Black's yard.

A man that had once had a youthfulness to his face that, six or so years ago, Arya Stark would have rejoiced at seeing, was frowning at her. As it was, they both stood stock still in place, mere feet from the other. He had a beard now, and his dark hair curled at his throat and brushed his black cloak. A scar cut down his left cheek, but his eyes had not changed; still grey as her family's colours, and stern as their father's had ever been.

 _"Jon,"_ she breathed, a plume of silver leaving her mouth at the words.

Her name left his own, but otherwise neither moved, too scared to break the spell; as if the other would disappear into smoke if they moved.

King Stannis glanced with narrowed eyes between them, asked what was going on, and Arya launched herself into Jon's arms. He caught her with a rush of air leaving his lungs, and Arya buried her face in his neck.

The hysterical laughter that bubbled up from her chest was a thing she could not stop. She clutched to his wide shoulders with a desperation she'd held in since seeing the Wall and knowing him to be at its base.

All Arya could hear while she held him,-besides the own pounding of her blood- (because she was making a fool of herself, but couldn't bring herself to care) was his earnest murmurings of, "You're alive, you're safe" and he held her so tightly she was sure her ribs would bruise. Her feet weren't touching the ground, and it wasn't nearly as uncomfortable to be this close to another person again as she'd thought it would be.

When Arya finally pulled back, he let her go slowly, grey eyes never leaving her face. "Little sister," he said, voice thick with emotion. Arya couldn't make her fingers let loose of his sleeve, hand tangling in the fur and leather. "Where have you been?"

Arya shook her head, glanced around them. "Later." She said, and glanced over her shoulder.

Aegon cleared his throat, and Arya scowled at the silver-haired ponce. " _Don't, Egg_." She snapped in Braavosi, eyes hard as steel. " _Later. Everything will be discussed later_."

Aegon was happy with that, it seemed. He cast a bemused look to his half-brother and walked off with Stannis to talk over their way of attack against the White Walkers just over the Wall.

 

Arya was simply pleased to finally have family with her again.


	2. my fading voice sings of love, but she cries to the clicking of time

Arya rarely leaves his side after they find each other again. As if she is afraid that he will disappear, fade into nothing more than dust--like Father, like Winterfell.

Ghost and Nymeria shadow their steps, hulking mountains of white and grey. When she sleeps, it is in the crook of his arm, wild hair a tangle around them both, and he cannot find it within himself to push her away.

It isn't proper, but then, he thinks, when has Arya ever been proper? And it isn't as if he trusts any of his brothers with her, no, not any further than he can throw them - she's still only a little girl; and they rapers and thieves.

Arya does not seem to share his concerns, though. Making friends with Grenn and Pip and the rest like she was born to it, and Jon despairs over her recklessness when she openly taunts Tormund Giantsbane.

Tormund, though, takes the girl's japes in stride, laughing before poking her in the side. _You've got balls girl, for one so small_. And just like that, they're interacting as if they've known each other for years.

Jon notices the golden bands she hands over, and doesn't say a thing.

But, besides Tormund and Val (You _like her, don't lie -you'd have to be blind and deaf and dumb not to_ I _like her_ ) , Arya doesn't truly talk with anyone else. It is Jon she confides in, Jon she weeps with; but she does not speak of her time across the Narrow Sea, and he decides that he will have to content himself with that.

Her chin rests on his shoulder now, her legs tangled with his, and he knows that normal grown siblings don't do this. They did this as children, he remembers--before her Lady mother had deemed it too scandalous- and thinks that perhaps it is the comfort, that this sense of _familiarity_ the embrace gives is reason why.

It is the only way she sleeps, she tells him. Being in his arms makes her feel safe. And Jon needs her to be just that; _safe._

Because he couldn't help Robb or Lady Catelyn or Father or Sansa or the boys and gods...

His arms tighten around her sleeping form, and Arya frowns in her dreams, pressing closer like a pup - seeking the warmth he gives. Staring at her serene face, Jon loses himself in thought. She looks her age when she sleeps.

Sam says that he met her when the ship carrying he and Gilly docked in Braavos, that she saved him from the Bravoes and then fed him. (Sam also suspects that-now knowing who she is- it was she whom killed Daeron).

Jon doesn't like to dwell on that fact.

He lets himself bury his nose in her hair and drift into oblivion.

 

.

 

It takes three years, but she does open up. But it is only after the new King deigns to visit the Wall.

That Arya already seems to know him, and the way he acts the lovesick fool makes Jon bristle. Arya spits on Aegon Targaryen's affections, throws them back in his face along with his promises, and disappears into Castle Black like a ghost to lick her wounds.

Jon cannot find her for hours-and _really,_ what does it say that the Lord Commander can't find one girl in his own stronghold?- but he eventually does. She's in one of the old towers, glaring out the window at the snow as it falls by her feet. (Nymeria's massive frame draped around her like a cloak may have also given her away).

He hears her sniff, and sees her wipe her face free of traces of tears and he pauses. Ghost is as silent as ever by his side; intent and altogether all to _aware._

"Arya?" Jon asks, stepping forward. He strokes Nan's ears and the she-wolf settles again, Ghost laying by her. Arya only glares out and away, does not say a word in response. Jon waits.

After what feels like forever, she mutters, "I met him in Esoss. He and his Dragon-queen aunt."

She moves until her shoulder brushes his, and then until she is leaning into him. Still she does not glance up and meet his eyes, only stares at her gloved hands with an intensity bordering on hatred. "He was pretty," she finally says. "And I was stupid for only a moment…"

Jon knows what she means, does nothing more than move to rest his chin on the crown of her head. But the tension does not leave her body. There is a pain laced into her words, he finds. He likes it not. "He promised that he would marry me, and I know he meant it. But then, of course things happened." She laughed bitterly. "They always do."

She finally glanced up at him. Her eyes are red-rimmed from weeping, and her face is flushed from the cold, but her eyes are still fearless, still very much Arya. "He returned to Dorne to wed his cousin... and I finally see him after years and all he has to say is that he is sorry."

Jon felt like punching something, preferably the silver-haired prick speaking with Lord Stannis. She sees his expression and quickly objects. "Oh, Jon _no._ He did not steal my honour from me... what little I have left of it." She touches his face with a gentle hand. "I was no maid when I went to him," Arya confesses with a lop-sided grin. "It only irks me that Aegon compares himself and I to Rhaegar and Lyanna."

Arya presses a kiss to the corner of Jon's mouth, and he almost, _almost_ pulls her back and _oh,_ how he wanted to kiss her properly then, as a man kisses a woman.

The urge frightens him, makes his breath quicken in panic, and he lets her go without a word.

Jon isn't sure how long he stands in that abandoned tower, chin tucked against his chest, with Ghost at his side.

Long enough, it seems, that Arya takes notice and returns in a rush.

 

The only thing he registers is that her body is flush against his and that her lips are chapped and warm and that sense of familiarity sinks in.


	3. Chapter 3

Sansa Stark was betrothed to Rhaenys's little brother, and her sister is as fierce as wildfyre.

The Lady Sansa tries her hardest to keep a rein on her little sister, a delicate hand always tucked in the crook of Arya Stark's elbow. The two girls adore each other and but have quite different opinions on the capitol, Rhaenys is told.

Aegon is lovesick for the elder, and Jon is in turn, admired by and admires Arya.

Rhaenys simply rolls her eyes and laughs at her brothers as one makes a fool of himself and the other blushes at every jape shared. Viserys shares her sentiment, and as they sit side by side in court, he leans and whispers, "Ten dragons on Jon being kissed first."

Rhae blinks, turns to face her uncle with a raised brow. "Oh?" she inquires, and Viserys elaborates.

"That girl is more a wolf than her sister, wild thing that she is." His chin is all but resting on her shoulder, and his violet eyes are bright with mirth and challenge. "She'd make a better match in personality with Aegon; she's the one more like your brother's Lady mother." But Rhae knows that he sees the profit to be gained by wedding the firstborn to the firstborn, that it would be an insult if Aegon were to wed Lady Arya.

Rhaenys concedes that, yes, it was indefinably more likely of Jon being seduced by Arya Stark than Aegon ever kissing Sansa before they are wedded and bedded.

And, indeed she was correct, Rhae finds.

She literally finds them. Rhaenys thinks, as she turns the corner and spots them, that in this moment they are beautiful and fit so incredibly well. His hand is tangled in her unkempt hair, as dark as his own, and her tiny hands are clutching to his doublet. Arya Stark and Jon Targaryen fit to each other in the same way Rhae does Viserys, and Aegon is trying to do the same thing with Sansa Stark- but things like this cannot be forced.

 

Rhaenys laughs, presses a warm kiss to Viserys's mouth and hands him the ten dragons with a sigh.

Viserys gives her a shit-eating grin in return. "I knew it."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brandon Stark survived and wed Catelyn Stark, the Mad King died trying to drink wildfire, Rhaegar won at the Trident, and Eddard Stark died at the Tower of Joy. (So instead of being called 'Bran', Arya's little brother is named Eddard "Ned" Stark in honour of him).
> 
> Lyanna was made Queen with Jon as her heir. Jon has Targaryen looks, and he and Arya run off across the Narrow Sea a month before she is to wed Elmar Frey.
> 
> This Arya is very domineering and is probably the biggest hypocrite you'll ever find (but lets not get into that now), and has Jon well under her thumb. You're not really supposed to like her.

 

 

Arya was to marry some Frey or another.

But that was nearly a year ago now, and she is lounging in a silk-quilted bed in Pentos at this particular point in time, naked as the day she was born.

Jon is snoozing at her side, his silver-blonde hair still slicked to his forehead and his pale skin still damp from their activities.

It's more than ironic, really. The secondborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen, the Melancholy King, and a Stark daughter. Ironic and Arya hates it.

Hates being compared to her aunt more than anything in this damned world, because Lyanna Stark is selfish, no matter how much people wanted to coat it over with pleasantries.

People have died for what she's done, and she hates sharing a face with that woman. Arya Stark is every inch her father, she's heard people say, seducing the son of the Last Dragon.

Jon often laughs at that, pulls her close and kisses just under her jaw. For wasn't he who'd followed her? Married and bedded her?

Little Ned often sends Arya letters, with talk of how her family is fairing, of how Jon's elder siblings and mother fair. She misses her brother, remembers crawling up the walls of Winterfell with him pretending to be wildlings when she was nine and he seven. Before Aunt Lyanna had come to Winterfell to foster out Jon.

Jon knows that she dislikes Lyanna Stark, and doesn't bring the topic up very much; as if ashamed of what his parents have done.

Arya pulls her hair back into a braid, and lifts herself from the bed. She stretches languidly, arms high above her head and toes curled. She bends to pluck her shift from the bright tiles and slips it over her head.

The balcony overlooking the rough sea offered little protection from the cold, but still Arya sat out there.

She liked to fancy that she could hear the calls of the dragons from King's Landing, and it is only here that she lets herself yearn for her father.

Brandon Stark had always encouraged Arya's less feminine pursues, had been loath to betroth her to that Frey boy. Arya had left them as quickly as she could, and Jon came along with her.

She'd been pleasantly surprised to find him at her door, pleased when he had greeted her with kisses and promises.

And it is these times, sitting out in the harsh, cold winds billowing off of the sea, that Arya allows herself to admit that she really isn't all that different from Lyanna Stark after all.


End file.
